The Cunning Linguist
by ElissaCousland
Summary: One-shot, drabble. M for subject matter. Leliana offers Alistair some advice. Alistair/FemPC.


Author's note: One-shot drabble for the fangirls. There's another Alistair drabble one-shot w/ Morrigan in my head that won't leave me be. I'll get that one up soon. chappy 7 of Rose's Thorn is in the works as well, about 50% done right now. but these one-shots won't let me be, and I really, really need to get back to chap 2 of Batgirl. eh, enjoy.

-The Cunning Linguist-

The Warden pursed her ruby lips. Her hand played at the back of his neck, teasingly running through his short-cropped hair. Alistair fidgeted nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. A blush crept up his neck and into his cheeks, coloring his face deep red. He took a step back, out of her grasp. He smiled sheepishly, an almost apologetic look on his face. He spoke softly. Her eyes stared down at the ground, she looked…disappointed. She glanced up at him and nodded. She kissed him on the cheek, then turned and walked back to her tent, alone.

Alistair let out a long breath he had apparently been holding for a while. He ducked his head and groaned. He brought his hand up and slapped himself repeatedly on the forehead.

Leliana felt pity at his obvious distress. She sighed and walked over to him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Alistair…if a beautiful woman threw herself at _me_ like that, I would be in her tent right now,"

"I know," he groaned, "…It's just…"

He sighed again, and sat down on a log near the fire. Leliana sat next to him as he confided his not-so secret to her.

"I've never…"

"Oh?" Leliana asked, feigning surprise, " Well, how is that a _bad_ thing? Most women I've met, consider a virtuous man to be quite a rare and _special_ thing, no?"

"I suppose you're right," he admitted in a gentle voice. "But, it's just--…I _love_ her, so much, you know?"

Leliana laughed her lilting laugh. "This is also a good thing, no?" she said, patting his shoulder in a reassuring manner.

He smiled a small smile, "You're right again…but…I just- don't want to-- I mean, what if I…" he glanced around nervously, making sure nobody, especially Zevran, was around. He leaned close to the bard and whispered.

"What if I…spill my seed...too _soon_?" He asked with a worried look on his face. Just the thought of going to his fellow Warden's tent made him excited. He groaned again, "That would be a _disaster_," he said, more to himself than to Leliana. "Surely she would leave me, if I couldn't…bring her pleasure,"

Leliana smiled at him. "Listen closely, Alistiar," she said. She leaned closer to him, cupping her hands around his ear. She whispered secrets to him. His blonde brows knit together. He pulled away from her after a few moments. He looked at her with raised brows.

"My mouth?" he asked.

She nodded, giggling at his utter innocence. She ran a hand along his jaw. "But you might want to shave that stubble first, beards can be…scratchy…"

He looked at her thoughtfully and rubbed his stubbled cheek. "How…um, how--" he blushed, looking away from her eyes, unable to ask what he wanted to know about what she had said.

She cupped her hands over his ear and whispered some more. He leaned in, listening carefully, hanging on her every word. He pulled away again. His expression similar, again raising his brows.

"Circles? Really?" he asked.

She nodded, smiling widely like the cat who had just eaten the caged bird. He swore he could almost see the feathers sticking out of her mouth. She leaned close again.

"And you can also…" she whispered more information to him.

"And you think she'd…like that?" he asked, uncertain.

"Oh, yes," she said, "and be sure to…" she whispered again in his ear.

"So…one first, and _then_ the other…?" he asked, for clarification.

"Yes," she nodded, "but only if there's room, and be _gentle_, Alistair. Go slowly…if our Warden is indeed as pure and virtuous as you are, then you must be careful. Trust me, she will tell you if she wants more."

"Right," he nodded vehemently, "Got it. Slow and gentle."

The bard giggled again. "Oh, Alistair, don't worry…you're going to do just fine," she assured him with a brief hug.

"Besides," she said, "You can practice on your hand, you know. That should give you and idea…how much pressure to use,"

He looked at her quizzically, then looked down at his own hand. He glanced back up at her. "Right," he said with a little more confidence in his tone than he had earlier. "Thanks for the pep-talk, Leli," he said. He gave her a quick hug.

"It was my pleasure," she insisted. The templar stood and turned to leave. The bard grasped his wrist.

"Oh,…there's just one more thing…" she said.

He turned back to face her, a questioning look on his face, "Hmm?"

"Well, two things, really…" she admitted.

His look was one of utter interest.

"If you must…" she said, "…breathe through your _mouth_…oh, and whatever you do, Alistair, _don't stop _until she tells you_._"

He nodded slowly, letting this new information sink in. _Breathe through your mouth. Don't stop until she tells you._

He thanked her again and headed for his tent. When the flap was safely closed behind him, he stood there looking down at his hand. He brought it to his face. Carefully, he stuck out his tongue and traced a slow, clockwise circle on his palm. It was warm and wet and tickled a little.

His face went sour. He spit the dirty taste out of his mouth. _Ugh! Guess I should've washed my hands after playing with Dog…_


End file.
